Runaway, Run
by StarrySkies
Summary: You told me you were okay. MacStella angst, PostStealing Home


**TITLE:** Runaway, Run  
**AUTHOR:** StarrySkies  
**PAIRING:** Mac/Stella angst  
**RATING:** T  
**SPOILERS:** Post-Stealing Home. References to that and All Access.  
**SUMMARY:** "You _told_ me you were okay."  
**A/N:** Inspired by (although not entirely adhering to...) the prompt "Sometimes I am my own worst enemy," given to me by wanderingsag. Title from Hanson. And apparently, my Mac and Stella like to walk and talk and fight.

* * *

"I'll get out here."

"You sure? It's raining like a son of a bitch out there, man."

"I'm sure," he says and pays the partial fare, much to the driver's disappointment. Money lost. "Thanks."

The sound of rain fills her ears as she walks. It gets louder, and suddenly, she's not getting wet anymore even though she can see the drops right in front of her face. She stops in her tracks and looks behind her. He's smiling that worried smile, holding an umbrella.

"Nice to see chivalry isn't dead, but uh, it's a little late for that, hero." Facing him, she tries to laugh. Neither acknowledges the pain from behind it. Pain that all too often accompanies her voice now. They both know it's there.

Her clothes are soaked all the way through. Her curls are weighted with water but seem to be fighting the straightening process.

"You're gonna catch a cold."

She turns around again, and they both start walking. "What can I say? I'm a glutton for punishment." She's looking ahead, but not really looking at anything. Just walking and listening to the sound of rain pelt the fabric above them.

"What are you talking about, Stella?"

"Nothing." She sighs heavily. "I'm not talking about anything." At this, she ducks out from under the umbrella and jogs a few steps in front of him.

He rushes to catch her and lifts the covering above her head again. "Are you--"

She stops abruptly. "Mac, why in the hell are you bothering with that thing?"

"Because I can," he says quickly and tries to vocalize thoughts cut off moments ago. "Are you okay?"

She takes off again and says, "Why wouldn't I be, Mac?"

He looks at the ground, trying to match her pace. Her feet splash water onto the cuffs of his pants. He knew it was too soon for her to come back to work. The ink didn't dry on the department counselor's chart before she was already back in the building.

"You _told_ me you were okay."

"I am!"

"No. You're not."

"Just get back in your cab and go wherever it was you were headed."

"Why are you so upset with me?"

"Let's see. Uh," she starts and then finishes in a voice deeper than her own, "'Even so, you pulled the trigger once. I bet you had no trouble doing it again.'"

He processes the quote. "What does Laura Jeffries have to do with this?"

They both stop. First her, then him.

"I know you're not _here_ all the time," she points to her temple, "but are you honestly that dense?"

Thunder rumbles in the sky. He looks up to see if there's lightning following it.

Indeed, there is: "I was standing right there, Mac."

He still doesn't get it.

"She told me I didn't believe her. She said her boyfriend was going to _kill_ her, and she said _I_ didn't believe her."

"That was different," he says, brushing it off. "You--"

"No. It's not different. It's _exactly_ the same. You talked to her like I was invisible. Riling her up to hit you, telling her if she killed one man, she would probably kill another. And you know what? If you had kept going, I might've hit you too." She thinks for a minute, throws caution to the wind, and socks him in the shoulder.

He blinks, trying to comprehend what just happened. When the shock subsides, he rubs his arm. "I didn't mean _you_." She scoffs and shakes her head, looking at something in the distance to avoid his gaze. "You know I don't think killing Frankie was your fault."

"It might as well be."

"Don't do that."

"What?"

"Turn this around on you. _He's_ the one who hurt _you_, Stella."

"Probably the same way Laura's boyfriend did."

She won't give it up. Perhaps he should concede, but he just can't find any words. He stares at her, and it strikes him for the first time, that the scar on her face won't be much of a scar at all.

She crosses her arms over her chest. Out of nowhere, she says, "I have been there for you every time you've needed me these past couple of years. Why did you leave me by myself at the hospital?"

"I was processing your apartment, remember? Flack was there with you."

"I didn't need Don. I needed you."

"I had a job to do. Trying to get a member of my team cleared."

"That's right," she nods aggressively and walks on. "I'm just your employee, Detective Taylor. And work goes on no matter what."

It's raining harder now. She doesn't notice. Wouldn't care if she did.

"I thought you were dead!" he yells after her.

Hearing this, she halts but doesn't turn around. He's at a standstill a ways behind her, still holding that damn umbrella.

"I heard your address on the scanner, and I can't tell you how many things ran through my mind. Flack kicked open your door, and we found him, laying there, no pulse. And then I saw you... and..."

She turns around slowly. She wants to hear it even though she knows it will hurt. Both of them.

"...I thought... '_Not again, God. Please not again. I can't lose another one._'"

When they face each other, his heart breaks for her all over again. Her mouth turns down and her eyes are filling with tears. She's drenched from head to toe anyway, but he can see the difference.

"I don't know if you remember, but--" he pauses and swallows hard. "When you woke up, all I could do was touch your face. And I held your hand in the ambulance. I--I don't guess you remember." He shakes his head, half in sadness, half in attempt to will the images from his mind.

She can't remember.

"I couldn't stay, Stella. I couldn't watch you re-live it while you gave your statement."

"So your first instinct was to run?" This is not what she wants to say. It's what she chooses to say. What she wants will cause far more hurt than she can take.

"What are you doing right now?" he replies calmly.

Mac looks at her, watches her take in him calling her out. Her eyes narrow just a bit, and she presses her lips together. This is what they do, and they both know it always ends up like this. This constant battle of wills, always pushing each other to that breaking point, where there's nothing to do but sit back and watch the painful outcome.

"Well then, I guess you understand why _I_ have to go," she says.

A move is not made to follow her any further than the spot where she says this. He lets her leave, knows it's what she needs. She knows now it's what he needed to begin with. And she will show up to work tomorrow, even though she knows he is opposed to it. And he knows he will let her even though he would rather her take more time. Nothing will be said from the night before.

He hails another cab and watches her walk away in the rain.

* * *

Crime scene clean up came by a week and a half ago. She re-cleaned everything herself after they left. It still isn't good enough.

She sits in the chair he turned over when he raced her to the gun he knocked from her hands.

She sits in her empty tub, fully clothed, still wet from the storm, and pulls the curtain closed.

She lays facedown on the floor at the foot of her bed. She holds her hands behind her back as if they're still bound by phone cord. And she remembers what she can. Remembers the blood. Remembers him dying less than a foot from where she lies now.

End.


End file.
